


Hope

by calenlily



Category: Lions of Al-Rassan - Guy Gavriel Kay
Genre: F/M, Misses Clause Challenge, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:31:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calenlily/pseuds/calenlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The streets of Sorenica were far too empty, of people and buildings, and many of the constructions now standing were only half-finished. But already the twin domes of the sanctuary could be seen proud and high on the horizon, and flowers were starting to bloom again out of ruined gardens and all across the city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evewithanapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evewithanapple/gifts).



The letter from Ser Rezzoni was an unexpected boon when they most needed one.

Hearing from her old teacher, finding out he and his family had the good fortune to have escaped the destruction of Sorenica, was one of very few things Jehane was glad of in the year following the burning of Fezana's Kindath Quarter and the eruption of the peninsula into war. Once that contact was reestablished, they resumed correspondence.

She spent a lot of time in correspondence, that year.

That the luck of Esperaña's armies had turned and they had been faltering since Silvenes was common knowledge, especially when one lived among those who were doing their best to ensure such a state of affairs continued. That their clerics had decided the attack on Sorenica had been an offense to Jad for which such misfortune had been punishment, she learned from letters from the North: from her parents and Alvar and Miranda Belmonte d'Alveda (written in conjunction, as often as not). But it was Ser Rezzoni who told her of the rebuilding, and most importantly of the new university, designed to be at least as grand as before, but sorely lacking in those with the knowledge to pass on.

She and her skills would be greatly appreciated in Batiara, he wrote.

***

Exile was almost a relief, in a way. It was heartbreaking to leave the peninsula that had always been his home, the lands he had fought and sacrificed so much for. But they could hardly be said to be the same lands anymore, torn apart as the Asharites and Jaddites battled up and down them. He had led their armies because they were Asharite, and would preserve Al-Rassan in some form, but he had never liked nor felt easy around the Muwardis, and an Al-Rassan represented by the desert tribesmen was a far cry from the Al-Rassan he had loved. Perhaps it was better not to stay and have to watch what was left of Al-Rassan slowly crumble away.

He was ready at this point, perhaps more than ready, to lay down his sword. When asked what he wanted in life, he had often dissembled by claiming, "To write in peace." Now he found that truly was what he wanted.

***

When their ship arrived in Sorenica, they were met by one of Rezzoni's daughters - the youngest, she told them; Marisa. She had been only a small child during Jehane's previous studies in Batiara, but she immediately liked her upon this second meeting.

It was both heartbreaking and inspiring to see Sorenica as it was now. The streets were far too empty, of people and buildings, and many of the constructions now standing were only half-finished. But already the twin domes of the sanctuary could be seen proud and high on the horizon, and flowers were starting to bloom again out of ruined gardens and all across the city.

Marisa was eager to tell them of the new university as she led them through the streets of a city slowly coming back to life; she would be studying there herself. Her sisters had married and moved away, content with domestic life, but Rezzoni's youngest aimed to follow in her father's profession. Jehane sensed something in her manner that indicated she was keeping up the conversation not so much from innate cheerfulness as that she perceived such optimism and distraction from their surroundings were what they needed to hear right now. The young woman rose further in her estimation.

She had reflected during the winter in Ragosa that she had spent a wearyingly long amount of time being serious and professional in a man's world, and keenly felt the lack of any female companionship. If she had been in need of a female friend then, it was doubly so by now.

Admittedly, she suspected she would quickly be comfortable in Sorenica however things went. It was Ammar who would have more trouble this time. He had always respected and admired her independence and accomplishments, but it couldn't help that this time they were among her people, welcomed because of her talents.

More importantly, the Kindath had always been the Wanderers, and she had never felt deep roots. He had traveled more extensively and for more of his life, but Ammar had a much stronger connection to place. He was, after all, the man who killed the last kaliph of Al-Rassan for the sake of the country he loved.

So she slipped her arm around his waist, and turned to Marisa and drew more out of her about the rebuilding of the city and the university until they reached their temporary accommodations. What they needed now was hope, to look to the future, to make peace with the past and rebuild their lives as Sorenica was being rebuilt.

***

As they settled into their first living space in Sorenica, he was heartened to find Jehane in lighter spirits than he’d seen her in a long time. "This time it's your turn to be idle; see how you like it," she teased him as she unpacked her physician's instruments.

She made light of it, but he knew that however difficult living among the Muwardis had been for him, it had been many times harder for Jehane. She had not been able to practice her trade, for the proud and zealous Muwardis would never tolerate a Kindath physician, let alone a female one, and honestly she had only been allowed to live because they regarded her as his concubine – a misconception that might have been amusing if the situation had not been so deadly serious. He wished she had agreed to join Alvar and her parents in Esteren where she would have been protected, but couldn't help being selfishly glad she had insisted on staying with him. He didn't know how he would have managed without her support.

There were a lot of things they made light of, these days. It would be too painful to speak of them otherwise.

"I will not be idle," he protested, pretending to be affronted. "I am a _poet_."

His air of affronted dignity provoked a laugh from her. He continued brightly, "Anyway, it will be a new and different experience, not having anyone out for my blood."

"Just so long as you keep it that way," she admonished teasingly. "How many kingdoms have you been exiled from now?"

"Just the one! ...Twice."

She laughed, but then her expression turned more serious. "Oh, my love, my love, I'm sorry for taking you so far from home," she cried softly.

He gathered her in his arms, and murmured against her dark hair, "Home is wherever you are."

He held her close against him. After a time he no longer knew whether he was holding her or she was holding him.

Finally he kissed her, almost desperately. It was an unspoken plea for comfort, to which she responded wholeheartedly.

She was soft and warm against him, her touch gentle yet insistent, threatening to carry him away.

He lost himself, then – in her fingers running through his hair, her light gasp as he slid into her, the heat of her body enveloping him.

Later, they lay entwined, her head resting on his chest, and a kind of peace finally began to settle over him.

He thought of endings and beginnings. Of the morning after a night of revelry turned to tragedy. Of desperate nights on a hurried ride from Fezana towards Ragosa, painfully aware of the coming storm. She had asked him, one of those nights, about whether something could truly begin in such a time of deaths. Ammar’s response had been not only that it could, but sometimes it must. When endings were all around, it was through making new beginnings that they survived.

The Al-Fontina in Silvenes with its courtyards and fountains might lie in ruins, but in Sorenica there were new blossoms growing from gardens dead a season before.

It was time to let go of what was in the past. What he needed was to say goodbye, the best way he knew how.

***

He murmured something indistinct, and she twisted around to face him and ask what it was.

"Nothing, love, just experimenting with lines," he told her. Reassured, she turned back over in his arms and relaxed.

Just before sleep claimed her, she heard Ammar ibn Khairan say softly, "I think I shall write an elegy for Al-Rassan."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so glad to have had the chance to write this assignment. I found the prospect of writing Guy Gavriel Kay fanfic rather intimidating at first, since the source is just so good, but it turned out to be great fun to write. It was several years ago that I first read The Lions of Al-Rassan, and remembered very much appreciating it, but upon rereading I just fell head over heels in love with it. (And how did I not realize until now that Ammar and Jehane hit just about all the things I love in a pairing?) So thank you for the reintroduction to an amazing book.
> 
> This story turned out a little angstier than I'd intended (which was kind of strange since I'm not much of an angst fan myself); I hope there was enough sweet in the bittersweet for you.
> 
> Many thanks to my betas, moviemom44 and caerfyrddin.


End file.
